The Shadowdancer Chronicles
by LastoftheOldScrolls
Summary: This is the harrowing tale of a thief by the name Antonie Vitaro; whose exploits took him all across the provinces of northern Tamriel. Be it stealing to survive, fighting to live, or proving the pen is mightier than the sword, no situation is too much for the smooth Imperial. What he lacks in strength, Antonie makes up for in style. This is his story.
1. Sewer Rat

The Shadowdancer Chronicles

Chapter One

Sewer Rat

There are many with humble beginnings, others with more affluent origins; even some who at first glance seem as trivial as a rat in a sewer.

_The Waterfront; a cesspool of debauchery, drunken sailors, cutthroat pirates, whores and brothels. Not the worst place, if you ask me. If things were perfect, I would've stayed. But life does not always fall as the dice do. I took up the name Antonie when I was very young, it was the name of a gladiator from the Imperial Arena. I used to polish their armor for a few septims. Life was simple back then, I used to sleep in the drains at night and walk the streets during the day. Stealing, picking pockets, and hunting rats; that's the life of a street orphan. That's me, Antonie Vitaro._

_I've been living in High Rock for three years. My arrival in the province was less than welcoming. It was around midday, with the sun hidden by the clouds. I was forced to leave Dragonstar on a less than hospitable note; a local crime boss by the name Alonzo Iragola maintained the belief that while employing my services, I was taking more than my share. I would have left much earlier if it were not for his lovely daughter,_ _Ashanta. After hitting my last mark of the day, as well as Ashanta, I was called upon by Alonzo. Making his intentions clear, he lunged at me with his blade drawn. I, drinking a tankard of ale at the time, proceeded to dodge his blow and counter with a tankard to the head. As he lay on the ground, stunned, I leapt from the window and made my way to the border of High Rock. Traveling the road from Dragonstar to Wayrest, I came upon a valley. Bordered by the Wrothgarian Mountains to the west and dense woodlands to the east, the road stretched down the center, bisecting the brush. Thick vegetation made it difficult to see anything beyond the road. As I made my way, I encountered a group of bandits. The group comprised of two Orcs and a Breton, as was usually the case in High Rock_. _Without changing course, I continued towards the armored men._

"Halt. Give us your wares, Imperial, if you wish to keep your life."

"_So, this is the group of bandits they warned me about. The local inn informed me of your presence."_

"Our reputation precedes us and it should. Give us your gold."

"_First you said you wanted my wares, now you just want my gold. Would you like me to strip naked and hand you my purse or we could keep talking?_"

"The gold…and your sword. Give us your sword."

"_Are you sure, because I can still get naked if you like?"_

"No. Just give us your gold and your sword!"

"_Because if you do, I would suggest your archer friends on the hill to come in closer for the show." _

"Archers? What archers do you speak of? There are three men before you. Are you mad?"

"_Possibly. One might consider wearing a red tunic while trying to blend into the brush, the work of a madman but you are entitled to your own opinion."_

The bandit turning his head around to view his fellow comrades perched upon the hill. Upon turning his head around, he is greeted by Antonie smiling.

"His tunic's not red."

"_No, but you did give away their position._"

Staring blankly at Antonie, the bandit was taken aback by his skill in subterfuge.

"**It matters not if you know their location." **

The Orc interrupted as he stepped forward, standing face to face with Antonie.

"**Their arrows are trained on your head.**"

Gazing at the Orc, Antonie took a deep breath. Inhaling through his nose.

"_Breton wine. I'm going to be honest, I would never expect an orc to have such fine taste. It just so happens, that I do in fact have a fresh bottle in my pack. I would be more than happy to share a tankard with a fellow connoisseur; if you would but let me retrieve it."_

Antonie crouched down, opened his pack and removed the bottle as well as a pair of clay tankards. As he began to ascend, the Orc tighten his grip on the mace he was brandishing.

"**You offer us nothing, we will take what we wish.**"

"_Well if you try to snatch the bottle, I might get nervous and drop it. Then none of us can be happy._"

"**Then I will crush your skull.**"

"_Was that not your original intent, to kill me and loot my body?_"

"**No. It was to leave you without two septims to rub together. Now we're going to break your legs and leave you for the wolves."**

"_So your original intent was to make easy money… Then we have something in common my friend. I have on offer for your leader, which will make all of us some easy money. And before you interrupt me again I but pose a question. How long do expect to pilfer this road before the Empire comes down on you?_"

No sooner does Antonie mention the Empire, a squad of soldiers appear out of the woods from the east. Given that the soldiers were a considerable distance from them, Antonie and the men scattered up the hill. Staying close to the Breton, he began to whisper.

"_Tell your bowman to provide a distraction; we can take the path out of the valley._"

"Our camp is up that way."

"_I figured as much."_

"How?"

"_It's what I would've done."_

The Breton gave the signal; the archers began raining arrows down on the soldiers, forcing them to scatter. In the confusion, the men retreated up the mountain pass towards their camp.


	2. Congregation of Comrades

The Shadowdancer Chronicles.

Chapter 2

Congregation of Comrades

Following the pass back to camp, the bandits resigned themselves to the fact that this imperial was worth more alive than dead. Antonie engaged in small talk with the Breton. _His name was Kastus Bedastyr, a Reachman with a war axe at his side. With a bottle of mead in one hand and a piece of venison in the other he began to tell me of his former home in the province of Skyrim._

"I was born in a village southeast of Markarth. There was a cave that overlooked my home, it was said to be the resting place of the great Red Eagle. The elders revered the cave for obvious reasons and forbade any villagers from entering. "

Uncorking the bottle, Kastus quenched his parch lips with a large swill of mead. Handing the bottle of to Antonie, the dark eyed Breton began telling him of the group's latest exploits.

"We've been pillaging that road for over a month now. Our best mark was but a fortnight ago, a traveling healer with a hatred for Orcs met his demise at the hands of Viktor, the gentleman you had the pleasure of meeting. I surprised you're not dead, Viktor usually isn't one for much conversation before he'll try to drop an axe into your skull. The healer barely got three words out, before the Orc cleaved him."

"_It seems to me, that the more one tries to change an Orc, the harder they swing their axe. You mentioned that you have been working that road for a month?" _

"Our leader Christophe ordered us to hit any targets entering the valley. Considering that the Empire has an outpost no more than thirty miles from here, it was only a matter of time before they arrived. "

"_Why not rotate between multiple locations? That way they think it's just a crime wave as opposed to the work of one group of bandits. You know how the Empire hates successful up and comers."_

Kastus heard the truth in his words. The group of men made their way through the mountain pass. By the time they reached the camp, the amber glow of dusk began reflecting off the rock face. The group of brigands decided to make camp in an abandoned fort that lay beneath the cliffs of The Wrothgarians. One could hear the echo of wolves roaming the barren hills. As the men filed in, Antonie spotted the leader sitting by the fire, feasting on venison. Spotting the Imperial, Christophe rose from his place by the fire. The redguard marched toward him with drunken purpose.

"Why is this Imperial not in binds? I didn't order any ransom. Who is this retch? Tie him up!"

"_Now, now, let us not be too hasty. Your men seem to share my taste in gold. I merely approach you with my services as a fellow thief."_

"The very idea that you think you can walk in here and start calling the shots is mind boggling. I am the leader of this outfit, I give the orders. Why aren't you men patrolling the road!?"

Kastus stepped in between Christophe and Antonie, attempting to diffuse the situation.

"An Imperial contingent made its way into the valley. Our reputation was bound to provoke a response. Thank the Nine that Galmir and Thoronor stayed perched upon the hill, if it were not for their arrows we would have had to deal with an entire platoon."

"_They most likely would've left you alone but someone had the bright idea to hound the same patch of road for over a month. A smart group of individuals would've decided to hit multiple targets throughout the hold."_

Attempting to gain a foot-hold in the exchange, Christophe stepped back and addressed the group of world-weary outlaws.

"I was the one who formulated the plan. It was a good plan up until you idiots muddled up my orders."

"_It was a good plan? What, stalking the same spot when there's a military outpost within a day's ride? I'm surprised your so called men even followed that order. That is truly a testament to their loyalty. Not to mention that your camp is within proximity of your target. Have you never heard the saying 'you do not shit, where you eat'?"_

As the anger welled up inside Christophe, he pushed Kastus aside and proceeded to threaten Antonie with his blade.

"That's it you Imperial scum, for that arrogance I shall see you dead."

Kastus felt the tension coming to a head. Antonie's words opened the old Breton's eyes. When he joined the group, Kastus was but one of twelve men. After many close encounters with guards and wildlife, the bandits had dwindled down to five. He wondered how long they could last using the redguard's archaic tactics. One too many close calls left him stunned with the thought of his death at the hand of the Empire.

"_Of course, kill the only person making sense. Next thing he'll want to storm the guard barracks after a thirty mile walk…"_

The men began to get agitated; the redguard's abusive words cut deep into the minds of the bandits, leaving a feeling of retribution in its wake. Kastus was effected the most, having lost a fellow comrade and friend just three nights ago.

Christophe could bear it no longer. Each word hit his ears with the symphony of shattered glass as it fell from Antonie's mouth. Lunging forward with the glare of rage in his eyes, Christophe raised his dagger, hoping to achieve a killing blow. He was drunk, so his step was heavy. His stance was unbalanced. He could not see Kastus' axe, as it met its mark upon his neck. The Breton put his axe away as quickly as he drew it, before Christophe's head even hit the floor. His body lay slumped on the ground, Antonie walked over to the fire, searching for the former redguard's wine bottle. He uncorked the bottle, picked up two tankards and walk towards Kastus. Handing the Breton a mug, Antonie filled his tankard to the brim with wine. Repeating the same for himself, Antonie motion to the bodiless head…

"_I would also like to point out, that I was the one who first spotted the soldiers…" _


End file.
